


Impossible Year

by boyonthebluemoon



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Autumn, Band Fic, Cute, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Short, Slice of Life, Spring, Summer, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21260723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyonthebluemoon/pseuds/boyonthebluemoon
Summary: Four seasons. Four people. Four stories. One impossible year.





	1. Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little wholesome fic for Halloween. This is the first part of a P!ATD series of one-shots that I'm going to be starting up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Jon's just a little bit too old to be happy about Halloween. But someone else isn't.

**OCTOBER 31ST, HALLOWEEN.**

Every house in the block and beyond displayed scary decorations on their front lawn; of plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, carved pumpkins and other usual novelty spooky items. Squealing kids rounded the streets with their friends and parents, donning various colourful and monstrous costumes as they knocked on doors and yelled a cheerful “trick or treat!”, and teenagers held their own parties and dared each other to do crazy horror-related things that either sent them running away screaming, or laughing, or in most cases, both.

It was a festive night as usual, perhaps even more festive and rowdy than he’d ever witnessed in his entire life, but Jon Walker simply felt like he was getting too old for this shit.

He had just dropped a couple of fun-sized Snickers on the bag of a kid dressed up as a vampire slayer (_“points to him for being a notch above cliche,”_ Jon wanly mused) and was heading back to his living room, a cup of store-bought coffee in one hand and the TV remote in another.

Nursing a headache, Jon tightened his shabby red bathrobe and sipped on his drink, grimacing slightly at the strange taste of…what was it that kids these days called it? Pumpkin spice? Yeah. Whatever the hell that meant.

He groaned as he unceremoniously plopped back down on the couch to continue watching a random B-list horror movie he found on Netflix. As soon as he pressed the play button, the TV immediately died and all the lights in the house flickered off.

_“Great, just my luck.”_ Jon dryly thought, scratching absently at his unkempt beard. _“This is so textbook cliche. Next thing you know, I’m going to fetch my flashlight in the kitchen and there’s going to be an axe murderer waiting behind the fridge to hack me into pieces._”

Fortunately for him, there wasn’t anything of the sort.

Although, there was a translucent little girl calmly sitting on his kitchen counter, which definitely was not there before.

Jon recoiled back in shock, nearly spilling his lukewarm drink all over himself in the process. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes furiously, and determinedly pinched himself on the arm, all before cautiously glancing back at the apparition.

But instead of being gone, the ghostly child was still there, and this time, she was staring straight back at him.

“Oh.” She piped up as she waved softly, making Jon deliriously laugh. “Hullo.”

“Oh yeah no cool, how’s it going? Oh nothing much, just TALKING TO A GODDAMN GHOST.” He rambled on senselessly in reply. The small phantom, however, seemed mostly unfazed by his reaction, probably already used to seeing that sort of thing. She’d seen worse.

“Are you okay, mister?” She asked innocently, stubby legs swinging back and forth and occasionally passing through the closed cabinets. Jon paused for a moment to think about what he was going to do next, and sighed out as he finally decided to give in to the sheer insanity of it all.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. Let’s start afresh.” He said, clearing his throat extravagantly. “So. What’s your name, kid?”

“…Nic.” The ghost replied hesitantly.

“Nic, sure, yeah, that’s a nice name.” Jon pleasantly appeased. “So. Nic. Why are you haunting my house?”

She blinked a few times before limply shrugging. “…Dunno. I’m bored. And I think I’m supposed to, I guess.”

“That makes sense.” Jon nodded. “Do you like scaring people?”

All he got was the same blink-blink-shrug routine in reply. “Dunno. I guess. I know I’m not very good at it yet.” Nic pouted sourly. “The older ghosts keep telling me to practice some more and if I don’t, some dumb priest or whatever’s gonna send me back to hell or afterlife or something, like they even know if that’s a real thing, they’ve never been. But I just wanna go outside and play with the other scary-looking kids, honestly. I only ever get to do that once a year, and I’m not even allowed to.”

Her eyes began welling up with tears and she turned away stubbornly, trying to hide them from Jon’s view.

Jon had never seen a ghost cry before, least of all a child ghost. For sure, he could definitely check that off his bucket list. Or just throw away the damn thing because for sure at this point, he’d seen it all.

He set down his coffee cup on the counter and carefully approached the quietly-trembling Nic.

“Well, Nic, if you don’t mind, let me tell you a secret.” He began. Nic still had her face buried in her hands and didn’t move even as he spoke to her, but Jon could sense that she was listening intently, so he carried on.

“Here’s the thing I’ve learned. Sometimes, you don’t have to listen to mean old adults. We’re just really cranky and tired from doing a lot of boring stuff. But you’re still a child after all, and you’ve got a lot to learn, and heck, maybe one day you’ll grow to be the best damn scarer in this cul-de-sac and scare those ancient naysayers back to their miserable graves. But hey, if you just wanna mess around, go wild. You won’t get a lot of chances to do that soon, and honestly—what have you got to lose?”

Nic finally rose from her hunched position and was seriously gazing at him now, a wistfully curious look etched on her pallid face.

“They can take you out of the fight, kid, but they can’t take the fight out of you.” Jon concluded with an assuring nod, finding even himself impressed with his whole speech. “Now go out there and trick or treat with all the other youngsters and show those creaky geezers that you’re made of more than goopy ectoplasm and boring boo noises.”

He shone his phone screen down as he fumbled with his ratty robe’s pocket, and managed to fish a piece of hard mint out of it. Secretly picking some lint off the old candy, Jon handed it to Nic.

“Here’s something for a start.” He said with a casual shrug, “I know it’s not much, but…”

But to the ghostly child, it didn’t seem to matter at all; as the bright grin that grew on her face could have lit up the entire house by itself. She excitedly swiped the candy out his hands (_“Note to self,”_ Jon wondered absently, _“ghosts can actually eat candy?”_) with a shrill laugh and went in straight for an unexpected hug.

Jon shivered madly at Nic’s hold. The sensation was like getting dunked right into a vat of liquid nitrogen. But he tried his best not to show his utter discomfort as he awkwardly patted her on the back, careful not to let his hand completely pass through her.

“That’s, uh, that’s the spirit.” He stammered out with chattering teeth, chuckling at his own pun.

“Thank you, mister!” She gratefully squeaked.

“You’re welcome. Now git outta here kid, yer bothering me.” Jon replied with a playful wink.

Nic simply nodded fervently, visibly filled with a new excited energy. She waved back once again and smiled the biggest smile a ghost could possibly ever have, before finally running on ahead of Jon.

He silently watched the otherworldly child as her glowing ethereal outline passed through the kitchen walls, and faded away into nothing. At that very moment, the lights flickered back on, but Jon didn’t even notice, still deeply lost in his own thoughts.

“Trick or treat!”

A giggling chorus of childish voices outside finally startled Jon out of his trance. Picking up his cold pumpkin spice drink (which didn’t taste so strange anymore) and the half-filled candy bowl, he walked to the doorway, sighed once, smiled the biggest smile a person could possibly ever have, and opened the door.


	2. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer's feeling a little colder tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's one last appropriately-sad bandfic for the year and decade. Happy New Year, y'all.

The eventide stars, Spencer Smith decided, were more beautiful when their iridescent light coalesced softly against the glimmering snowfall.

Holding a freshly-bought cup of coffee to warm his hands, he wrapped the scarf around his pallid face a bit tighter, his cheeks already a pleasant shade of pastel red from the cold. Finding a nearby park bench to rest on, he placed his bag on it and gingerly sat down to stretch his weary legs.

It had been a long day.

The dim sodium lights above his head overhead flickered once, twice, before completely blazing bright, gradiating his shadow farther and making the darkness seem a little less lonelier than it was.

_Lonely little life…_

Intricate whorls of vapour escaped from his mouth in a lost sigh. He gazed thoughtfully into his untouched drink, languid mind turning to reminiscing as it replayed old memories like damaged black and white film reels, visions rolling through his half-closed eyes like a fast fading dream.

He thought about his best friend, the clever idiot. Spencer hadn’t seen him in…years? Had it been years? Most likely. He already stopped counting, and he was pretty sure they had done the same, as well. They’ve all been separated for a while and doing their own things now, after all. That was just a part of growing up.

But suddenly remembering those old moments of madness and melancholy alike; the dumb interviews spent joshing each other around and the absurd-looking costumes they put together with thrifted clothes and dollar store supplies, the way they constantly joked around together and made crazy music that left a lasting legacy to always be proud of, the hell-high youth that intoxicated them and, for one moment, made everything feel deathless—it all came crashing back to him and made him feel rather blindly exposed. The frigid breeze suddenly started to pick up as it blew past his rusty bones, making made him shiver slightly.

_Best friends, huh…_

He hugged his jacket a little tighter towards him as he felt a slower chill run past his skin again. This time, he wasn’t quite entirely sure if it was still from the cold weather.

Spencer smiled dolefully, ignoring the quiet pang of ache that made its way under his ribs. He was happy for his old friend, he really was. That man had helped him through so much, carrying him throughout his worst relapses and his painful withdrawals and even the most hopeless moments of his life, god, they’ve been through so much together. But it couldn’t always be a fairy tale ending for all of them. Sometimes clocks simply stop, and cogs simply fall apart, and after everything that’s happened, time couldn’t ever be turned back and everything has to go on. Happily ever after wasn’t ground zero, it was simply another fork in the road.

_But it’s alright. That’s just life. And it was fun while it lasted._

Despite himself, he still can’t help but badly miss everyone. He wondered if they also missed him, as well.

Spencer sat by the very corner of that fragile cardboard town for a very long time, resting beneath the sinking lavender haze of the early winter afterglow as he let frail snowflakes blanket his tired body; waiting for answers he knew will never come to him.


	3. Petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the beautiful bloom of spring that day, Ryan couldn't help but feel just a little bit stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just might be my most favourite one out of all four stories, but maybe that's just because I love writing about rain and am also completely suckered by Ryro, who knows :^)

It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn't stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.

It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.

It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit...but now, it just didn't feel right. He didn't really know **why**, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.

_Just what is it about today?_

On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like...filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that's the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.

_Mental block is a bitch._

Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he'd been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.

He snorted derisively at the last thought. He **definitely** needed to take a break.

"George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!" He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.

Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.

It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.

Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.

The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.

But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn't mind it at all. _The umbrella's already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me._

_**Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line...ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough!**_ A voice at the back of Ryan's head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought...but suddenly, he didn't feel so exhausted anymore.

And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.

Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.

And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.


	4. Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hot LA sun is merciless, but Brendon and Sarah are going to figure out a way to cool down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A summer fic in the middle of October??? Yeah okay ngl I may or may not have kinda forgotten about this fic lmao sorry, but hey here you go, just one final chapter to round it all out. It's honestly been a fun one.

It was another sweltering afternoon in Los Angeles. The wind came in occasional listless beats that barely disturbed the dry foliage, sunshine coming down harshly from the cloudless sky and rendering everything painfully sluggish.

Brendon came sauntering (as he would) along to their backyard, where Sarah sat relaxing on one of the lawn chairs, reading a classic novel under the shade of a multicoloured umbrella.

"Hey Sarah, look what I got!" Brendon called out after her, unable to contain his excitement.

Sarah moved her book down an inch from her face and did a double take. "Honey...what are you doing with that thing?"

In one hand, Brendon carried an dusty battered-up radio that was half the size of his torso. His white shirt was matted with sweat and dirt, but his face radiated an eager, childish smile that never failed to brighten up anyone's day, no matter how insufferably gloomy they were.

"It's vintage." Brendon announced as he gingerly patted the radio. "I like it."

"Of course you do." Sarah sighed out woefully. "Did you dig it out of your great great great grandfather's basement or something?"

"Close, but no cigar, darling." Brendon laughed as he went along with it, drawling the last word as would a classic 50's movie star. "It was actually hiding deep in the attic."

"Ah, of course, obviously. My bad." Sarah said in feigned surprise. "But here's the million-dollar question: does it work?"

"Well...we'll see about that." Brendon tilted his head unsurely as he pensively gazed at the obsolete contraption. "But like my dad always said, it's nothing that a good whack to the back wouldn't fix."

"Interesting advice." Sarah nodded thoughtfully. "No wonder it's in that condition."

Brendon pouted at her. "Don't be mean."

"Sorry, sorry." Sarah giggled, waving her hands apologetically. "But don't keep me in suspense, love. You know what it does to my heart. We better go ahead and give that old beat-up thing a shot."

Brendon nodded fervently with an excited grin, and he flicked a switch on the back of the radio, his fingers twitching in quiet anticipation.

A weighted second passed. Then two. And three.

To their pleasant surprise, the radio actually crackled to life and started humming monotonously. Brendon quickly extended the antenna to catch a signal and started fiddling with the squeaky knobs, hoping to find a good station to tune in to. All the while, Sarah was silently engrossed as she watched him work on it, her book abandoned on a nearby table and already half-forgotten.

White noise crackled in protest with each static radio station. Brendon determinedly spun the knob around several times until it finally landed on a live one, radio speakers visibly coughing up dust as a rusty announcer voice blared out from it.

** _"-was another amazing song folks, thank you for tuning in to TD 197.5, home of chart-topping record hits all day everyday! Now for our next song, we've got some classic Bon Jovi to cool you down and keep your spirits up in this hot LA afternoon!"_ **

** _♪ Feels something like summertime_ **  
** _Top down and nothin' but time_ **  
** _Radio's on and you're by my side_ **  
** _Feels something like summertime...♪_ **

"We did it!" Brendon whooped joyfully as he suddenly swept Sarah up, taking her in for a triumphant hug. Sarah couldn't help but kiss his cheek and cheer along with him, her own flustered face tinged with pink.

_ **♪ It's like that first slow dance and that first long kiss** _  
_ **There ain't nothing baby, better then this** _  
_ **It's like a beach blanket and a bottle of wine** _  
_ **Feels something like summertime... ♪** _

Brendon gently set his wife back on the chair and started running around, still yelling rather madly as he grabbed for the drainpipe on the side of their house and started climbing up. He finally managed to fully clamber up on it, teetering at the very edge of the roof.

"Hey, be careful!" Sarah shouted from below.

"Watch me do a backflip onto the pool!" Brendon shouted back eagerly.

"Well, don't go too crazy up there," Sarah said with an exasperated sigh. "You're gonna break something."

"Oh, I'll be alright, babe." He assured. "Seriously, it's like you've never seen me at a party before."

"I've seen you through one too many post-party hangovers to know just how hard you can party, you cheeky nerd."

"Okay, true that." Brendon winked. "But you gotta admit, it's a hell of a feeling though."

"You moron." Sarah said with a soft smile. "I love you."

"What a coincidence," Brendon smirked back mischievously before he took the fateful leap. "I love me too."


End file.
